


in my dreams, we are still together.

by Hiriajuu



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Canon Compliant, Grief/Mourning, Light Angst, M/M, Pynch is real okay guys, Rovinsky with a side of Pynch, and he knows that, basically Ronan dealing with his feelings about K's death and his part in it, but so is the fact that K's death was partially on Ronan, this is after TRK
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 18:10:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10418124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiriajuu/pseuds/Hiriajuu
Summary: "On nights like this, he sits in the BMW at a red light for minutes that seem like years, decades, eternities, thinking of a boy he once knew.He dreams awake, and he is dreaming of a dreamer he once knew, a boy just like him, full of anger and hate and fear and wonders. A dreamer, who shared his anger and hate and fear with him, and he shared the wonders too."





	

Ronan loves Adam.  
He's so completely and overwhelmingly in love with Adam it's almost ridiculous. It feels like he has always loved Adam, and he is certain he always will. There's no denying that.

But there are... nights.  
Nights, when nothing seems real. When the world feels like it's a dream. On nights like this, Ronan lies awake in his bed at Monmouth, eyes open wide, staring at the ceiling. The smell of gasoline is in his nose for some reason he doesn't dare to think about, not yet. He lies still, body rigid and unmoving. He's afraid to move, because it feels like if he stretched out his arm, he could touch the shadows surrounding him.

When he finally moves, it's in an instant. Out of bed, jeans up, boots on, car keys in hand, out of the door. The seat of the BMW is soothingly familiar, the hum of the engine coming to life is like a lullaby.  
On nights like this, driving doesn't rile him up, it lets him dream while awake.

But on nights like this, dreaming is a dangerous thing.  
It's dangerous, because he is not dreaming of the Barns or Cabeswater or Adam. He is dreaming of other nights. Past nights. A white Mitsubishi pulling up to the BMW at a red light, and then neither car stopping at the next red light. He is dreaming of music blaring from the car next to his, the ear-deafening electronica accompanied by fast verses sang in a far-away land's language. He is dreaming of obscenities yelled at him and a pair of white shades thrown on the seat next to him through the open window.

He still has those shades in the glove department. He doesn't need to get them out to know they smell of gasoline and sweat and fear and loneliness.  
But he still gets them out. They should be almost weightless in his hands, he knows they are, but they still feel heavy.  
The air feels heavy too, the night seems to be crushing him. And his heart feels heavy, heavier than ever, heavier than he thinks he could bear.

On nights like this, he sits in the BMW at a red light for minutes that seem like years, decades, eternities, thinking of a boy he once knew.  
He dreams awake, and he is dreaming of a dreamer he once knew, a boy just like him, full of anger and hate and fear and wonders. A dreamer, who shared his anger and hate and fear with him, and he shared the wonders too.

But then he asked for too much in return. The air was heavy that night, in their dream, their shared dream, the last one they shared. Because the dreamer gave him his own heavy, torn, broken heart, and Ronan couldn't give his in return. And so, the boy stopped dreaming.

Now he only lives in the dreams Ronan has on nights like this. And on nights like this, Ronan sometimes dreams he gave his heavy, torn, broken heart to this other boy, and so this other boy lived.

He lived, just like Ronan, and he dreamed, just like Ronan, he dreamed of Ronan and with Ronan.  
But this was only in Ronan's dreams. In reality, the boy was dead, and it was because of Ronan he was dead, and it was only in Ronan's dreams he could live on.

And so, on nights like this, when Ronan feels the all too familiar prickling feeling on the back of his neck that he knows is caused by restless ghosts, when he can smell gasoline and sweat and smoking tires, when he can hear the faint sounds of music sounding like murder and love and life and death with its upbeat tunes and slavic verses, when life feels like a dream and dreams feels like reality, he dreams. He dreams of this boy he once knew. This boy, who couldn't go on without Ronan loving him, just like Ronan wouldn't be able to go on without Adam loving him.

In his dreams on nights like this, there is no Adam, and he is able to love this boy. He says to himself that it's only a harmless dream, but when you are a creature whose dreams can become reality, no dream is harmless.  
Not even the ones dreamed wide awake, staring at the empty road stretching out in front of him from behind the wheels, with gasoline in his nose and a pair of white shades in his hand.

He dreams for hours, and when he is finally able to go home and sleep, these dreams feel like a nightmare after waking up.  
He is familiar with nightmares, though.  
After all, the world is a nightmare.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is my first writing in this fandom, and my first time writing anything in English since Star Trek: Into Darkness, so yeah, be nice to me, and give me feedback, it would be very much appreciated! Tell me if I should keep trying, tell me what else you'd like to read from me, I'm open to suggestions about canon-compliant or at least not very canon-divergent things. Also, the fic has been translated to Russian by the wonderful Rosy_Warner (thank you for doing it ❤), you can find it and read it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11390205) or [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5705787/14664800). :)


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